


Ikigai

by aye_of_newt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Elias underestimates the power of love, M/M, Martin is Jon's reason, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, They fail to save the world, Tragedy, Unreliable Narrator, and his last tie to humanity, and of revenge, fear of losing one's mind, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aye_of_newt/pseuds/aye_of_newt
Summary: Ikigai: (Japanese) reason for livingJon always worried about losing his mind.But in the end, he lost his soul.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Ikigai

**Author's Note:**

> Hey.  
> I thought of this painful thing and had to share. (And project some feelings a bit but shhhh)  
> Sorry?

  
  


For nearly as long as he could remember, Jon had feared losing his mind. It wasn’t perhaps the most pressing of his (admittedly numerous) fears, but it was there nonetheless. 

As a child, the fear had more to do with intelligence. He’d been told, at the ripe age of four, that he was _smart_ and did everything in his power to maintain that image, that precious status, going forward, continuing to hold onto it well into his adult life. There were, perhaps, times in his youth when he thought a little _too_ much of himself and his big brain, but by the end of secondary school, his classmates, who had no problem finding his various faults and oddities, had ensured that that would no longer be a problem. And, had that not been enough, the creeping depression which had followed him most of his life, only to finally descend upon him and feed in university, took care of any last shreds of arrogance left. 

Still, as he progressed into the field of academia, first at uni and then in his career, Jon held on tightly to his shield of intellect. He knew he wasn’t especially attractive or funny or charming in any real way. Sure, he had managed to make a few friends in college, even shared a few brief relationships, but they all crumbled to nothing after a time. His human connections withered easily, like a particularly finicky houseplant left in the sun just an hour too long. The thing that seemed so vital to everyone else left Jon only burned, and, as time passed, it became increasingly clear to him that he didn’t have much to offer other than his mind.

Although at times, he doubted he even truly had that at all. 

He hid behind wire-framed glasses and a large vocabulary and the demeanor of aloof disinterest in the hopes that, if no one got too close, they wouldn’t see that his veneer of intelligence had nothing behind it other than a young man who’d formed his entire personality on being a mildly impressive child, only to wind up far over his head in a job he doubted he was qualified for. 

When Elias had approached him, offering the position of Head Archivist, Jon had been surprised. He hadn’t even applied. The thought had never ever occurred to him. Why would Jon, of all people, be chosen when surely there had to be someone else, _anyone else_ , better suited? 

He’d said as much to Elias, who only laughed and assured Jon he knew what he was doing. 

The way Elias had smiled at him, sharply, laughingly, like he knew something Jon didn’t and was endlessly amused by it, had bothered him even then. Of course, it took some time to figure out exactly why that look had sent shivers down Jon’s spine, but by then it was too late. In the moment, in that terrible, haunting moment when Jon unwittingly signed his life away, he dismissed it as excitement. That little shred of childhood that still clung to his bones, that tiny part of his mind that held on to dreams of greatness, had whispered temptations to him. Its sweet seductive call had promised Jon the chance to finally prove himself. It offered the assurance that Elias, that anyone, thought Jon was important, was worthwhile, was _smart._

He’d accepted the position and done his best to forget the feeling of unease that had prickled through his body when he shook Elias’s hand. 

Jon blundered his way through his first months as Archivist, going home most days wincing at how he’d managed to make a fool of himself as he pretended desperately that he knew what he was doing and snapped, often far too quickly and harshly at anyone who made him feel like he didn’t. 

It wasn’t just self-consciousness that caused this tension. He didn’t trust them, his assistants. 

Sure, Tim was a… friend. Perhaps. Maybe. Tim at least insisted he was, but Jon honestly wasn’t sure if they were actually friends, or if Tim was one of those people who was just nice to everyone Perhaps he accepted the job offer because it would progress his career more than because of any real affection for Jon. His continued affection and invitations for drinks could very well have been just simple office politics, basic politeness. It was a possibility Jon kept in mind, even if he secretly hoped he was paranoid. 

Sasha was quite competent at least, though that too came with danger, as Jon was sure she was the most likely to find him out, discover that he wasn’t half as smart as he pretended to be and send his whole facade crashing to the ground. If what he’d heard murmured when others thought he wasn’t around was true, she should have been given his position to begin with. Jon made sure to make an extra effort maintaining appearances in front of her and did his best to squash down whatever guilt he felt at robbing her of what was doubtless a much-more deserved promotion than the still mysterious one Jon had been given. 

Martin was nice. Very nice actually. Too nice. Jon hated people who were too nice. It was creepy, all that smiling and asking about Jon’s weekend and making tea like he cared. 

Why would Martin care about Jon? He didn’t seem overly impressed by Jon’s prowess at organizing files and showed no discernible reaction to the jargon that Jon tended to slip into his speech wherever he was feeling particularly self-conscious. If it wasn’t his work that Martin liked, if it wasn’t his perceived intelligence that he found engaging, then what exactly _did_ Martin see in Jon? The answer eluded him. 

As for Martin himself, he seemed perfectly content to be where he was. He showed no real ambition to rise through the ranks of the institute and, despite the degree his resume boasted, (Jon had checked) he was surprisingly quiet about whatever academic insights he might be able to add to the investigations into the validity of any statements. It was odd and Jon couldn’t quite get a handle on him. Martin just didn’t appear to feel the need to show off or even let anyone know his capabilities at all. 

Jon did entertain the idea that he just didn’t have any capabilities to show off, and certainly had no problem saying as much, but some part of him always doubted that was true. After all, Martin did work for the Institute. He had to have some level of knowledge or expertise or something, anything, to add. Elias wouldn’t just let any random person work in the archives. He had standards.

At least Jon hoped he did. Because if he didn’t, that cast a very dark shadow on his own unexpected promotion indeed. 

It was almost a relief when Jon began to fear his assistants for other reasons, almost a relief to be afraid of something other than his own failure. That was of course, until it became clear that Jon’s failure was the root of all the Archive’s problems. Until Jon’s failure cost the lives of Sasha and Tim and Daisy. Until his failure ended the world.

Looking back later, Jon would laugh darkly at himself for how foolish and insignificant his worries once were. It was true that, in the end, Jon’s fears were realized. It was just that, when the darkness came for him, it wasn’t in the form of a bad performance review. He wasn’t unmasked as a fraud and a fake, leaving him professionally humiliated and without a job. 

No. Instead, he met the physical manifestation of the fear of losing one’s mind. 

And over a dozen other terrors aside, of course.

His fears came for him in the form of a philosophical quandary that Jon doubted many people had ever been forced to ponder in such a direct way. For, not quite two years after assuming his position in the archives, Jon was faced with the very real question of if he was becoming a monster. If he had, at some point without his noticing, stopped being human. 

It didn’t take too long for him to find the answer was a bit more complicated than yes or no, that he was stranded somewhere in between the two, no longer as human as he once was but not entirely monstrous either. 

When exactly he crossed that threshold was unknown to him. Was it the moment he’d stepped into the archives? When he’d read his first statement? When his body had, for a brief time, become host to worms and the fragile shell of his mortal being was breached? It bothered him, not knowing when exactly he went too far, that he had lost such an essential, vital part of himself and not even noticed. 

It nagged at him, an eternal, subtle feeling of wrongness, difficult to forget but necessary to ignore if he wanted to be able to do anything other than lay motionless on the floor, slowly crushed by the weight of his sins and terror of his existence. 

Even with all of that, Jon honestly wasn’t sure what was worse⏤ not knowing, or being horrifically, agonizingly aware of his own downfall, feeling himself drift further and further from his own humanity by the day and unable to do anything to stop it. 

Though, if Elias was to be believed, it _had_ been his choice. 

Jon tried not to think about that too much. It was easier if he was a victim. If he could ignore his own mistakes. His own guilt. 

Sometimes, he was afraid he’d been a monster before he even met Elias. 

Whatever he was before, working at the Institute had changed Jon on some level at least. Throughout his life, Jon had always thought of himself as a bit of a coward. He wasn’t especially confident or brash and was more likely to apologize to the person who ran into him than confront someone who had wronged him. 

Of course, when one experiences unholy evil barely even comprehensible to the human mind, their scale of what qualifies as terrifying tends to slide a bit, and Jon increasingly found himself doing things he would have paled at the thought of a year or even a month before. 

Still, he didn’t count himself as brave. He was scared. Constantly. He only managed to get through the endless days by cauterizing himself off long enough to complete the task at hand, allowing himself to collapse in numbing fear only when it was safe to do so. 

He staggered on, shouldering the fate of the world and trying to keep his head above water, praying that he stayed human enough to still care if he failed and if the people he had once been so suspicious of lived. 

It was cruel, really, that Jon was the one who brought the end of it all, not in the least because he spent so long trying to stop it.

He didn’t understand why Martin stayed, after. But he’d never understood Martin to begin with. 

Make no mistake, Jon was glad that he didn’t leave. Beyond grateful really. Selfishly so, holding on to him as tightly as he could when he knew for a fact that Martin deserved better. He wondered if it made him _monstrous,_ devouring the love that Martin gave so readily when he had only his own patchwork, inhuman heart to offer in return. 

Martin took it readily though, smiling like Jon had hung the moon when he offered him the tiniest amount of praise or affection. Even if he felt like a bit of an asshole for accepting such undeserved rapture, seeing Martin look at him like that made Jon feel more human than he perhaps ever had in his life. 

More than that, it _kept_ him human. When the Eye clutched at him, digging its endless gaze into his soul and trying to tear him apart, Jon needed only to reach out and grasp Martin’s hand. For no amount of power and knowledge, no matter how beautiful its song, could ever be as satisfying as the honey-sweet touch of Martin’s lips on his scarred and pitted skin. It could never be louder than his whispered _I love you,_ pressed into the tangled halo of Jon’s hair. 

At some point in the meaningless expanse of time on their journey to the Panopticon, Jon looked to Martin and realized that it wasn’t his mind he was afraid to lose. 

It was his heart.

His soul.

That was what made him human. 

And for Jon, both of those things resided not in his own chest, but in Martin’s. 

It made his whole being sing to think about, even as fear, stronger than any that had struck his hardened heart in a long time, sank deep into Jon’s bones. He couldn’t bear to lose Martin. He wouldn’t survive it intact.

It was unclear if it was Jon’s realization, never spoken but still surely Seen, that solidified Elias’s plan, or if killing Martin was something he’d always counted on doing. The effect was the same either way and Jon didn’t stay himself long enough to truly contemplate it. He was too busy drowning in grief.

Because, as inhuman as Jon had become, as many powers and as much knowledge as he possessed when they came face to face with Elias, his body was still far too mortal, too slow, too wracked with warped tissue and badly fused bones to move fast enough to get Martin out of the way. 

And, for as much as Martin meant to him, as much as he was Jon’s world, his last tether to his humanity, as incredible and irreplaceable as he was, he was just a human. Skin and bones and blood that was so easy for a bullet to pierce. 

If it wasn’t so tragic, it would have nearly been funny. That after so long, after surviving so much, it was an ordinary gunshot that ended Martin’s life. Just as it had ended Gertrude’s. 

It was almost funny how Elias, one of the most powerful immortal entities in the non-world, chose such a simple, mortal weapon with which to carry out his dark deeds. Though to be fair, even if it lacked in style and supernatural flare, it worked all the same. 

Martin was dead.

Even if Jon failed to see the humor in the situation, Elias thought it was funny at least. He laughed while Jon screamed, clutching desperately at the wound as far, far too much red leaked down the dingy jumper, soaking it and Jon’s hands as he tried to save his love, his heart, his soul long after he was already gone.

Jon cried, collapsed over the empty body, until even Elias was growing bored at feeding off the waves of torment and anguish. 

“Are you going to lay there for all eternity, Jon, or are you going to get up and come fight me, _save the world_ just like you thought you would?” Elias taunted cruelly. “Or have you given up so soon?”

Hate, more pure and hot than anything he had ever felt before rose in Jon. That time, when he stood, Jon chose knowingly. 

He took one last look at Martin, limp and broken and utterly devoid of the glowing golden life that had enraptured Jon. 

Martin, who had never given up on him, even when Jon was a total ass.

Martin, who had stayed with him, even when Jon literally brought about the end of the world. 

Martin, who had loved him, for some unknowable reason.

Marin, who had kept his old creaking heart something close to human. 

Martin, his reason. 

Elias, Jonah, whatever the creature who stole Jon’s life was called, laughed again, his interest sparked once more now that he had a reaction out of his toy. It reminded the Archivist of the day he’d been given his title and of the smile that had haunted his nightmares. 

“I won,” Elias mocked him. “Your little _boyfriend_ is dead and there is absolutely nothing stopping you from solidifying my new world. Or perhaps I should say, our new world. Come on, don’t be stupid, Jon. Join me. There’s nothing to hold you back now from taking your true form and being one with the Eye. Think of all that you can know and see. Think of all that power, just out of reach. Come on, Jon. _Take it._ ”

Slowly, the Archivist turned towards him, staring at Elias with eyes turned milky and pale, clouded over but seeing everything from the first spark of the universe to its choking wheezes as it struggled against the forces of chaos attempting to snuff it out. They glowed slightly with a pale, haunting light, like that of a specter in the night. “You know, Elias,” he said. “You’re right.”

The smile he gave Elias was wide and sharp and cruel. It looked nothing like Jon’s smile. It looked nothing like a human smile at all. 

It sent a tiny shiver, a barely-registered flicker of unease down Elias’s spine. He had counted on Martin's death costing Jon his humanity. He hadn't counted on the burning fury that would infect the shell that was left behind.

Still smiling, the monster embraced himself.

And he unleashed his wrath. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much!!!
> 
> Please, please, please let me know what you thought!!!!!
> 
> Love,  
> [ Aye of Newt ](https://aye-of-newt.tumblr.com/)


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